Reparations
by azarathangel
Summary: CBP2 Halloween is the night the demons and spirits come out to wreck havoc on those unfortunate souls who don't have anyone to help them defend themselves and their hearts against the ripping terror of the skeletons in the closet. [BB] T for language and


**Story: Reparations**

**Disclaimer: I only own my terrible feelings that inspire angsty bipolar things such as this. Also, I have no claim to "It Only Hurts" by Default or "Whiskey Lullaby" by Brad Paisley**

**Spoilers: None**

**Pairing: BoothxBrennan**

**Chapters: One-shot for Cullen's Bullpen 2**

**Summary: Halloween is the night the spirits come to haunt and destroy. They take over bodies and wreck havoc on the people around them. This is their story.**

**Chapter 1: Remember**

**Note: Here's my angsty piece for the Cullen's Bullpen October Challenge, Jeepers Creepers!**

**WARNING: Angst**

**NOTE: The flashback was originally a standalone story that I was trying to finish as my CBP challenge, but today is the thirtieth and I obviously didn't finish THAT so I combined it with this other short story I just wrote and voila!! Hope you like it! -Ash**

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**STORY RATING: T for subject matter and language**

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"_Can hold my breath only for a little while,_

'_til reality starts sinking in._

_Once again, I'm settling for second best._

_Turn the pages, skip to the end._

_It only hurts when your eyes are open,_

_Lies get tossed and truth is spoken._

_It only hurts when that door gets open, dreams are lost, and hearts are broken._

_I know what you're feeling,_

_It's hard to believe in someone who's not there._

_I know that you're waiting_

'_cause love is worth saving,_

_But only for so long."_

_-Default_

The hilltop is covered with a lush green carpet smelling of freshly cut grass. The pungent aroma of the swaying green blades tickles his nose as he sits against a gnarled old oak tree. Flowers decorate the surrounding hills; each petal gleams with dew and shimmers in the early morning sun. Ever so gently, he plucks a small red flower from the ground beside him and caresses the velvety petals. Holding the flower by its pale green stem, Seeley Booth studies the springy white tendrils against their soft green background. He sets the flower back down and turns his chocolate gaze back to the lake nestled in the valley.

Geese honk to each other as they circle the crystalline waters. One suddenly tucks its wings to its sleek body and torpedoes itself down to the mirrored surface. It lands with a small splash and darts its beak into the cool liquid. As it comes up, Booth sees the sun's brilliant light bounce off the scales of a long silver fish like a shot of gold. The goose tosses its head back and gulps down the fish before gracefully rising back up to join the others dancing in the gentle breeze. Booth watched them lazily circle the lake a few more times before flying across the crest of the tallest hill and disappearing into the fluffy white clouds beyond the valley.

The breeze rustles the tree branches above him and several small twigs rain down around his still body. Seeley closes his calloused fingers around a twig and brings it up to eye level and studies the woody exterior. A small black ant creeps across the twig; he lets it crawl onto his finger. The little bug steps across the weathered skin of his hand, and he smiles as the tiny legs tickle him and the minute feelers gently sweep across his thumb. The creature makes no move to harm his skin as Seeley lowers his fingers and gently picks up the bug and places it on the back of his hand. The ant sits there, feelers twitching as it watches the lake below the two. "We make a good team, you and I," the aged man says in a scratchy voice. The ant twitches in response.

Booth nudges the back of the ant and watches it crawl up his index finger and perch on the tip of it. Around him, blades of grass sway to a gentle beat in the breeze and all the flowers bend over, bowing to the mountains beyond the hills. Seeley turns his attention back to his little companion and brings it to his eye level. With a gentle smile, he crushes its tiny body between his thumb and index finger. He watches it die; the feelers twitch for another second before Packard scrapes the carcass off onto the grass.

The world has changed; the sun still shines and still feels warm against his back, but it feels colder now. The flowers have lost their radiant complexion and the once deep green of the grass has faded to a paler shade. The sky, once pale blue and clear, is now dark and shadowed by the clouds that were once kept on the horizon. These clouds are no longer little, white, and innocent; they are rumbling black monsters pressing down on the still lake and motionless greenery. Booth's demeanor does not change; he remains stoic and his dead, stony eyes watch for movement in the early morning. He looks to the sky and watches the clouds move over the last bit of clear blue hope.

Rain falls, but he does not feel its cleansing waters. Thunder resonates through the valley and rattles his chest, but he does not acknowledge nature's power. Lightning rips through the black clouds, but he does not blink against the harsh light. Once a lover of the rain's ability to purify his body and soul, he has become immune against its touch. He feels only dirt and blood falling upon his body in torrents; he hears only bombs shaking the ground beneath him; he sees only the flash of guns and smoke grenades. The world's beauty is lost to him.

Although accustomed to death around him, the old FBI agent has yet to come to terms with his own. His body exists on earth, but it is a living shell, a shell with little more than guilt and self-hatred. His wife of ten years kept his tormenting feelings at bay for a time, but as he knows well, all good things must come to an end.

Temperance left him two years ago and he still hasn't recovered from the nasty split. It had been his fault. They used to be so happy, but so much can change in one night. And that was all it took: one night. Today is the two day anniversary of the split; he still remembers it like it was yesterday; it never stops hurting.

**- - -**

Laughter and the opening guitar chords of an Aerosmith song filled the FBI-issued SUV. The highway was empty except for a few other cars and both Booth and Brennan were more than happy to be returning home after a long yet rewarding case.

"It's good to be back." Booth sighed as the car entered the D.C. city limits. Brennan nodded her agreement before resting her chin on her knees and yawning. Booth looked over at her; Brennan had her knees drawn to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. Her cheek now rested on her knees, bright blue eyes turned towards Booth.

"Cold?" he asked, reaching for the air conditioning dial. Brennan reached out and gently grabbed his hand before it reached the knob and gently shook her head.

"Tired," she responded. "We're getting too old for these car trips."

"You're only forty, Bones," Booth replied with a smile. They had been married for ten years and the FBI was still sending them out on field missions. He was almost forty-three. Booth gave her hand a gentle squeeze before she put her arm back to her legs and Booth returned to the steering wheel. A comfortable silence settled back over the two while Booth drove. The gentle rock of the car and the soft ballad of "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" began to pull Brennan's heavy eyelids shut.

"Hey, Bones?" Brennan opened her eyes and found that the car had stopped and they were parked in front of a Stop-and-Go. The neon signs glittered in the dark and Brennan glanced at the clock: 8:47 pm. A car full of rowdy teenagers pulled into the parking lot and stopped on the far side.

"Yes?"

"I promised Jordan I'd have her favorite cereal for her tomorrow morning when she and Riley come back from my mother's." Booth gave her a gentle smile and she returned it. Both of them had been looking forward to coming home and seeing their children again. Riley was eleven; Jordan, nine.

"No more Cocoa Pebbles?" Brennan asked.

"She saw a new commercial a few days ago." Booth smiled at her, laughing. Jordan's favorite cereal changed practically every day, it seemed. Riley was a bit more conservative.

"Let me guess: she wants Count Chocula now." Booth's eyebrows shot up as he regarded her with cautious eyes. Brennan laughed at his inquisitive expression. "Riley called me on my cell phone yesterday to tell me about it."

"He didn't call me!" Booth said, confused. Brennan laughed again.

"And when I asked him why, you know what he said?"

"What?" Booth returned.

"He said, 'Daddy already knows what Count Chocula cereal is! Jordan didn't want you to be confused when you saw a box with a vampire on it in your pantry tomorrow so she told me to call you on Mammy's phone.'" Brennan quoted. Booth laughed at her impersonation of Riley; it was perfect.

"Well, Jordan usually starts eating some Halloween-centered cereal the day after Halloween." Booth mused.

"Is it really the 31st?" Brennan wondered.

"Yep. All the kids are out tricking and treating right now. Parker's going to a party at his friend Aiden's house, Jordan's dressing up like a pirate,-"

"-and Riley wants to be a baked potato. I never really got into that aspect of Halloween," Brennan replied. "The Celtic roots of All Hallows Eve have always been fascinating, but children running around with sheet on their heads or dressed as Powder Rangers asking for candy is making a farce of the Celtic belief that disembodied spirits would return to possess the living.

"Naturally, that idea is equally ridiculous as the idea of ringing doorbells for candy, but it's justified in that the original tradition took place so long ago and the people's beliefs mirrored those of other groups at the time." Brennan stopped speaking when she heard Booth's quiet laughter. "What?"

"Power Rangers, Bones, _Power_ Rangers. Not Powder Rangers." Booth chuckled. Ten years into their marriage with a television and she hadn't changed a bit. Brennan rolled her eyes as a dismissive gesture and opened her mouth again to finish her speech.

"But it is quite interesting that even though this is the day many people feared in earlier times, it is now a commercialized fun-filled holiday for many. All Hallows Eve was supposed to be the day your demons, or in the Celtic's case, spirits came back to haunt and wreck havoc on towns. Furthermore,-"

"Hold up there, Bones." Booth stopped her with a finger on her lips. "Let's go get Jordan's cereal so we can go home and sleep. You can ramble during the car trip back because I can tune you out, and then I might even let you continue at the apartment because then you can talk me to sleep." Booth grinned as he said this and Brennan laughed. She leaned forward and quickly pressed her lips to his smiling ones before exiting the car.

"Well, Booth?" she grinned suggestively as she backed towards the store door. "Don't you want to get home? Let's go!" Booth was out of the car instantly.

"Whatever you say, ma'm." He slipped an arm around her waist as they entered the store together. It must have been an odd sight, he though; a couple smiling and laughing as they enter a rundown gas station story at night with a car full of drunk teenagers sitting out in the parking lot. What a pair, Booth laughed mentally.

"Found it!" Brennan raised the box of chocolate cereal in the air and waved it at him from the next aisle over. The organization in the small store was ridiculous; the two had finally decided to split up earlier and search the store. Fruit Loops were found in one aisle, Cheerios in the next, and a random assortment of adult and children's novelty cereal in another. Booth drew his head out of a shelf and brushed by the pack of rowdy teenagers that had entered a few minutes before. He could smell the alcohol on their breath and hear it in their voices, but they were harmless at the moment.

"Congrats, Bones." Booth plucked the box from her grasp and led her by the hand towards the register

"What do I win?" she asked cheekily.

"I'll think about it," was Booth's response. Brennan squeezed his hand and Booth dropped the box of cereal with a cartoon vampire on it on the counter and pulled out his wallet.

An angry voice suddenly rose from the pack of teenagers and Booth whipped around as the shouts erupted from the group. One of the boys reached into his pocket and began fumbling around for something. Booth's hand flew to his gun at his waist and Brennan noticed his thumb deftly flip the catch off the holster. She turned her attention back to the boy who had first shouted; he was waving a Smith & Wesson handgun around. The rational part of her said model 22A, but the majority of her brain was screaming _move!_ Booth quickly advanced on the boy with Brennan cautiously following.

"Hey, kid, put the gun down." Booth held two hands up in a non-threatening manner, but the young man turned and flicked Booth off with his free hand.

"I'll put the fucking gun down when I want to put it down!" He said angrily.

"Hey, man, listen to that guy. He has a gun, too." One of the other boys pointed at Booth almost accusingly and tried to calm his friend down.

"I bet she does, too." A girl with too much makeup and a skirt that was far too short sneered at Brennan. Brennan raised one eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, wondering what she did to make this girl hate her already or how much she had drunken to get to this state of inebriation.

"Two on one's not very fair, is it tough guy? Even if you are old." The boy with the gun leveled the pistol at Brennan's chest with a grin. Booth lunged and hit the boy's arm just as he pulled the trigger. Brennan slid behind a shelf and the bullet shattered the counter glass. The cashier quickly began punching numbers into the counter phone.

The boy wrenched himself out of Booth's grip and pointed his gun at the ceiling. He grinned at Booth who had his gun in hand and the boy began firing rounds at the ceiling.

A bullet ricocheted off a steel beam in the ceiling and flew back towards Booth. It clipped his left shoulder and Booth's hand immediately flew to the bleeding wound.

"Booth!" Brennan darted out from her position behind the toilet paper and ran to the injured agent. She pressed her hand over his to stop the gentle flow of blood; luckily he had only been grazed. The shots stopped for an instant and a click was heard as the boy loaded the gun again. He was laughing quietly and the rest of the group was huddled behind various shelves around him.

"Dude, cut it out! You're gonna kill someone!" The boy who had first spoken to the shooter shouted from his position with another girl by the counter. The boy with the gun only smiled and pulled the trigger again.

**- - -**

Temperance Brennan died that night. She acted as a human shield for her husband and received six shells in her chest. Booth continually blames himself for her death; Halloween really is the night demons come out to play. If only he had taken action against those drunk kids, but no; he had to play the nice cop and pay no heed until they did something. He lost his best friend that night, and with the loss of Temperance, the spirits of his past and the skeletons in his closet came bounding out at full speed and hit him with the force and pain of watching a bullet rip through his love's heart.

He is a sniper. That is the title he can never relinquish, no matter how many lives he saved while killing countless others. There is no reparation he can make for his victim's lives. Temperance told him many times before that he was a good man and helped his country, friends, and the victims of a tyrannical government, but none of that means anything to him now because she is not here. Her love helped him shove his memories of the war back, but without her, he is nothing. It does not matter how many lives he saved; the people he killed had families and friends, too. He sees now in his mind's eye the face of a dictator; it is a hard face with a scar running across his left eyebrow. The man's tanned skin is fraught with wrinkles and anger. But now he is a father smiling at his children, a husband gazing lovingly at his wife; the face softens and the smile is craggy. This man's scar came from hitting his head against a table while chasing his youngest son around. This man's children do not know what he does for a living; the only thing they know is that daddy died and mommy won't tell them why.

He wonders what the mother had to tell their children when she found out her husband died. Did she feel empty, angry, scared? The hardest thing Booth had to do that night was go home to Riley and Jordan and tell them that mommy wouldn't be coming home. Then he had to call Parker. What did the families of his victims have to go through? Not only have you killed the enemy of an oppressed country, you have killed a father, a husband, a son. There is no reason for that.

Jordan feels guilty because she wanted the cereal; Riley because he called to let them know; Parker because he couldn't do anything about it; Booth because he was there.

Seeley Booth looks down at his hand and twists the tarnished wedding band around his finger. He has not removed the ring in over two years now. It is Halloween, and the demons and spirits of the night run over his thoughts and run his mind on this night more so than all the others. He does not blame the boy for shooting the gun; he blames only himself for letting his wife die. He is nothing without her.

**- - -**

At twelve o'clock midnight when the Eve of Halloween turns to the morning of the first of November, Special Agent Seeley Booth took a Smith & Wesson handgun, model 22A, and he shot himself as many times as he could in the head.

"_He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger  
And finally drank away her memory.  
Life is short but this time it was bigger  
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees.  
We found him with his face down in the pillow  
With a note that said I'll love her till I die  
And when we buried him beneath the willow,  
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby."_

_-Brad Paisley_

"_With each shot, we all die a little bit inside."_

_-Special Agent Seeley Booth_

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So, did you like it? Please leave a review and Happy Halloween everyone! Good luck to all on the Cullen's Bullpen challenge.

As always, Ash


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